Technicality of Breathing
by wyxest
Summary: Plastering an overused easy-going ("Irritating," Kei comments but kissed him otherwise) smile, he pushed open the doors, creaks reverberating like static in his ears. He greets the figure overlooking the city from the too big hospital windows. Five months but he won't give up. He can't. Terminal Illness AU! Drabble Series. Established KuroTsukki
1. Chapter 1

**I.**

The bundle of carnations in his hands felt heavy again. Kuroo walked silently towards the _samesamesamefucking_ room, a solemn expression on his features.

Once.

There was once that the flowers in hands had meant so _much._

That was once.

It had meant hope – _their hope_.

But as he dies inside, a little each time ( _more each time, he adds),_ they gained weight and it had _hurt so fucking much._

The doctor _(the liar, the bigbig liar)_ said there was a cure. The treatments were supposed to work and he ( _why does it have to be him?)_ should be fine. He should be able to play _again._

Kei would've been _happyhappydamnit._

But no.

Nothing worked. _Nothing._

Kei's body refused everything. His eight years turned to six, then four, then one. And just when he thought they were broken enough, there were only five months left at most.

Breaking the news to Kei had been hard. _No. Hard would be such a soft word._ Saying it to him was like drowning himself in methane and propane and gasoline and _burninghisownbody._

 _"I'm sorry," he finished lamely, eyes not meeting Kei's. Coward, you trash, you shitty coward._

 _A sharp intake of breath._

 _And when Kuroo looked up, some few seconds later that felt like hours, he was met with a flat smile._

 _It wasn't sarcastic or teasing or any hurtful smile from Kei. It was flat, deaddeaddead. Lifeless._

 _Oh god no._

 _Nononoplease…_

 _He reached forward and embraced the fragile body with as much care as possible._

 _And as the sun sets, serving as the only witness upon the horrifyingly tragic scene, Kuroo pretended he didn't notice the tears cascading down those blank, brown eyes._

He shifted courses immediately. It wasn't easy giving up the three years of university work. It sure as hell isn't easy giving up _his dreams of being a professional volleyball player._ But he did it.

Did it without an ounce of hesitation.

He shifted to medicine, gave up volleyball for more units. _Faster._

 _Faster._

The faster he finishes, the faster he can _try (by the God he would try)_ searching for a cure.

He was desperate, he knew that. Knew it more than he knows his fears. There was a possibility. A huge possibility that he _won't make it._

( _Deep inside_

 _He knew he won't make it._

 _No one can fix this anymore…_ )

But he doesn't want to give up. He doesn't want _him_ to die as easily as the flowers he brings every day.

He ignored the truth, pushed his body to the limits and isolated himself in favor of his studies. In fact, he has already forgotten how it feels like to spend a day with Kenma. Or society for that matter.

Isolation for Kei. _All for him._

Kuroo refuses to _remember._ Refuses to feel the happiness of human interaction.

 _He refuses because how could his stomach stand it when Kei can't?_

Kei was intelligent, naturally so, and god knows how much he suffered knowing he can't go through university. Knowing he wouldn't even be able to live past twenty-one.

He can't stand the sight of his face when he looks at mirrors anymore. Bags, huge dark bags, pale lips and a ghostly shade of skin definitely don't boost his morale because-

 _Kei has this hollowness and gaunt sadness that threatens to overwhelm his body whenever he gazes at him and his heart breaks again._

 _Again and againandagain._

It wasn't fair. They were mere young adults, Kei barely feeling _normal._ This isn't fair.

This isn't fair.

Why them? Why him? Why does it _have to b **e him?**_

His frustration irritated him to no end

but

he couldn't do anything about it.

He walked deliberately slower.

Ten steps forward, then thirty-seven steps left.

He slowly breathed, shuddering exhales breaking the norm, then he loosened his strong grip ( _fuck, there are wounds on his palms again; he should really stop gripping too hard)._

Two fast knocks, and two slow.

Rhythm.

Plastering an overused easy-going ( _"Irritating," Kei comments but kissed him otherwise)_ smile, he pushed open the doors, creaks reverberating like static in his ears.

Then he greets the figure overlooking the city from the too big hospital windows.

Five months but he won't give up. _He can't._


	2. Chapter 2

**II.**

Death truly is ironically humorous, Kei thought. Like a cliché love story where a sick person suddenly has someone and _everything turns out okay_ in a stupid sequence of events but then… the sick person dies. _Like a dog_. But everything's still okay.

Except in his case, it wasn't.

And at this point, he could've cared less.

Except he couldn't.

Because as long as Kuroo remembers him – engraves the image of a tall _boy,_ volleyball in his hands and sports glasses glinting – in his mind, he _couldn't_ not care less.

Because Kuroo still cares, and his brother still does, and his mother and his father too.

Troublesome bunch, aren't they? Waiting for a lost cause that is.

The door creaks and Kuroo entered with the usual flowers in his hands. There was no fanfare about his arrival, more of a corrosive, cynical taste in his tongue really.

"Hey," Kuroo greets, placing the flowers in the clean as fuck vase already filled with water (the nurses know by now of the ' _kid who visits everyday with carnations in his hands'_ ).

"Hey yourself idiot."

Kei worries. Of course he did.

Kei worries and laments.

Because for all that his disease has taken from him, it didn't take away his perception and intelligence.

He could see the dark, persistent bags, the alabaster pallor, the hunched back that told a story of long – _prolonged_ – sleepless nights and the grief that had haunted Kuroo.

It hurts. Dammit.

 _Dammit._

Kuroo shouldn't have been _this. This wreck…_

 _No one should sacrifice himself for a lost cause…_

And now the shame and self-damnation is creeping up to him and he desperately pushed it away.

 _How weak of you, Kei._

"Is that how you greet your mother?" Kuroo sat down and in his usual gestures of _undying love_ , took his hand.

 _He pretended he didn't notice how Kuroo's hands trembled._

"No." Kei asserted, perhaps with a little bit more bitterness than necessary. "But that's how I greet you."

His tone betrays his hands though, as they gripped the hands grasping his own as well.

Kuroo stares him down in place, beady eyes perusing his condition.

 _He pretended he didn't notice Kuroo's bloodshot eyes, mind working furiously to forcefully erase the thought._

And then Kuroo grinned, as he always does. It's for a lot of things really. But in this context, it's reassurance for him.

Because god knows Kuroo understands the fear that he pushes away so stubbornly in favor of maintaining his blank, acerbic façade.

 _He knows it himself._

 _If he breaks character now, it would undoubtedly result to a catastrophic breakdown neither of them wanted to witness._

"How fucking tragic…" Kei murmured, more to air than himself.

 _He pretended he didn't notice the sadness curling at the corner of his lips._

"…You said something?"

"No…just thinking…" Kei denied. Such sweet sweet denial.

Five months? _That is way too long._


	3. Chapter 3

He was well underway in his second year in middle school when he started to fain- no, such a weak word – collapse. First thing then that he could register was that he can't breathe, second was that his whole form was numb and heavy, and last was that his body was hitting concrete, tiles, marble, gah, whatever the ground was made of.

He thought he handled it well though.

For when the tell-tale signs of a faster breathing rate occurs on him, he excuses himself and goes to the nearest isolated place, usually the bathroom, and let it pass. Quietly. Then he'd wipe the sweat off his face, make sure his breathing is perfect, and goes back to whatever the hell he is doing.

See? Easy.

And in true Kei fashion, it was too late when his family had known.

Why?

He hid it, of course.

Sadly, all good things- wait, was this a good thing?- must come to an end.

And it was just his extremely bad luck and Akiteru's extremely good luck that their parents had gone, seven months since his first attack, into some sort of business trip, and they were left alone for the night.

The memories were blurry at best but he was sure that Akiteru had called him down for dinner.

Kei didn't manage to give an affirmative because he was too busy getting a grip of reality as he stumbles (futilely, might he add) his way to his bed, knowing what was happening and hoping that he could just play it off as being asleep. Kind of hard when everything he could see are by twos and threes and overlapping with each other, and nausea is practically breathing down his neck.

And again, it was just his extremely bad luck that his glasses fall off his face unceremoniously and shit I can't breathe helpmehelpme, and, the numbness, I can't feel my bod-

He collapses. Just like that. Like overcooked noodles.

Through his last blink, ragged breathing and the ringing silence as the only sounds he could register, he sees a blob of silver color, a figure he knows only because there was no one else but. Kei's last thoughts- at least that he could remember with blinding clarity – were that he couldn't hide this forever and that there is absolutely no getting out of this.

It was no surprise when he woke up, that Akiteru was beside him, a phone in trembling hands and an uneasy gaze to his prone form.

Kei looked away.

"I didn't bring you to the hospital," yet, Akiteru started, calm yet on the verge of breaking down. "I knew you'd hate that."

"Bullshit." Kei snorted. "You know that I know something about what you just saw."

Kei knows his brother. Air-headed and even a little naïve, but he is shrewd and sharp when it comes to things like family and relationships, especially things concerning him.

Akiteru's brows furrowed. "You sent me a surprised look before…this. It didn't take me two yen to figure out that this has been going on for a long time." The way Akiteru said it – slow and certain, filled with unmitigated worry- he probably hadn't meant for it to make Kei guilty.

But it did. Slightly. What a lie. Or… not just slightly.

"What do you want me to say then? Explain myself?" Kei managed to look him in the eye, finding nothing but concern, concern for him – you're so stupid Kei, such a burden.

His brother had never looked so abashed.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing." Akiteru grounded out, something akin to finality that leaves no room for any arguments in his words. "You will eat dinner then rest and sleep, skip school tomorrow because we. Will. Go. To the hospital."

We being their parents and Akiteru himself, was left unsaid. Oh. That was probably what the phone was for.

For once, something felt strangely warm inside of him, the antithesis to the coldness that is nestling on his fingertips (it will be much much later that he'll realize that it's the familial warmth of being loved).

He slept dreamlessly.

Tomorrow came far too quickly for his liking. And the next clear memory he had was-

Just mitral valve prolapse, the doctor said- an immediate verdict on the echocardiogram results in his clipboard. Common in teens and young adults, nothing relatively serious. He can still play volleyball – don't worry lad, sports is good for the heart! - he can still go on as usual.

Okay. He could live with that.

So his parents and his brother breathed a collective sigh of relief and life went on. The only additions were some medications, and a slightly controlled diet, and maybe a little effort in sleeping early.

But that was it.

That was supposed to be the end of it.

Obviously, it's not.

It didn't occur in them that the doctor is an amateur bastard.

Fucking peachy.


End file.
